


Namastay in Mallorca

by smoothsailing



Series: Chit Happens [3]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, yoga i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoothsailing/pseuds/smoothsailing
Summary: Roger can't quite put his finger on what he feels for Rafa, so he decides to put his finger in it.
Relationships: Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Series: Chit Happens [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555249
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	Namastay in Mallorca

**Author's Note:**

> Being quarantined means having a lot of free time on my hands... and this is the result.  
> The title is a terrible pun on the words "namaste" and "stay" but hey, I tried!

Lately they’ve been going out on… Roger isn’t sure if he would call them _dates_ , really. Maybe if they were anyone else they would be considered dates. It’s just dinners, and the movies, once, and walks around Mallorca, and really, it’s all stuff that they’ve always done. But now, with their _thing,_ it feels like more.

And maybe Roger should have brought it up, brought anything about it up, but Rafa never did, either. So they’ve just been going on like normal, hanging out and playing tennis and occasionally, randomly, getting off together. It’s been strange, but nothing about his relationship with Rafa has ever been normal.

And Roger knows he shouldn’t want it, he shouldn’t want to get Rafa into a complex pose and then fuck him up until he collapsed. He shouldn’t feel like getting Rafa to let go was something he beat Rafa at, except that somehow he knew Rafa felt the same way - if he held the pose the entire time, he won, Roger lost, and they both got off.

It’s ridiculous, and convoluted, and they could just fuck like normal people - on a bed or a couch or against a wall - but instead they got yoga mats and boxer briefs and orgasms so fucking mindblowing that Roger is _still_ jerking off to the memory of rimming Rafa through his underwear, of coming all over Rafa’s spent dick.

And it looks like Roger is going to get another opportunity, because when he walks into Rafa’s house, he can see the yoga mat spread out in the living room, can hear Rafa moving around upstairs.

He takes off his shoes and jacket and sits on the couch, not bothering to yell out a greeting. The mat is laid out before him, and Roger can already picture Rafa’s half-naked body spread out on it, muscles shifting and straining as he moves through a relaxing routine, his dick twitching under Roger’s gaze. Roger licks his lips and shifts, spreading his legs to make more room as his dick chubbed up against the thick fabric of his jeans.

They haven’t done this in Mallorca, yet, just hotel rooms on the road, but Roger’s ready to take it up a notch. He loves the idea of Rafa walking into this room later, to watch TV or read or play video games, and remembering how Roger took him apart, how he made Rafa beg and moan and come all over himself. He isn’t sure how it’s going to go this time, doesn’t know what pose Rafa will end up in, whether, oh God, maybe he’ll do that upward-facing dog one Roger saw online, and he could rub his cock all over Rafa’s lips, slip the head just inside, get Rafa to suck on the tip while he jerks off, then pull back and come all over Rafa’s face.

Roger undoes the button on his jeans and softly rubs his palm up and down his covered dick, hips arching into the pressure a bit. He bites his lip, but he can still hear Rafa in the bathroom upstairs, so he sticks to just lightly running his hand over himself, feeling his cock get harder the longer he waits. Rafa has to have heard him come in - Roger didn’t try to be quiet, and the door had slammed behind him when he came in. And if he had the mat out, Rafa must have been planning something like this. He must have known what Roger would think when he saw the mat, the - fuck, is that _lube_ on the table?

It is. It’s fucking lube.

Roger doesn’t even bother trying to hold in a moan just the thought of it, of what Rafa was implying, what he might let Roger do to him. Because Rafa can be a slob, yeah, but the rest of the room is clean - clean enough that Rafa must have actually tidied up, and it couldn’t be a coincidence that the lube is out, a brand-new bottle by the look of it. Oh God, is Roger going to get his fingers -

Roger cuts the thought off right there, because he can hear Rafa coming down the stairs, his bare feet padding against the hardwood flooring of the hallway. He doesn’t acknowledge Roger at all, doesn’t hesitate walking into the room or pause before kneeling on the mat facing away from Roger.

Rafa’s only a couple feet away, black boxer briefs straining against his muscled ass like they always are as he rests on his heels, shirtless as usual. He just stays there for a minute, breathing deeply and steadily, and Roger finds his own breathing matching the rhythm, the hand drifting over his cock going in time with the rise and fall of Rafa’s chest.

Roger doesn’t know what Rafa’s waiting for. He’s just kneeling there, back straight, his hands probably folded on his lap, and Roger can see the way his muscles shift and flex with every breath. They breathe in together, and Roger rubs up towards the head of his dick, little sparks of pleasure sending a flutter through his stomach. They exhale, and Roger pushes down, down, until his fingers are ghosting over his denim-covered balls.

One more inhale, deep this time, and as Rafa exhales he tilts forward, his back stretching out in front of Roger, his hands reaching out and his ass still resting on his heels. Roger wants to mark him up, come all over him, grab his hips and fuck into his glorious ass, but he can tell - this isn’t what Rafa wanted him to see. This isn’t _all_ that Rafa wanted him to see.

He reaches for his zipper, pulls it down, and the sound is so loud in the room, so obvious, and Roger sees a shudder race up Rafa’s spine. They breathe in, and Roger pushes his jeans down, kicking them off when they get to his ankles, until he’s sitting on Rafa’s couch in just his boxers and tee. There’s a damp spot where precum leaked through, but Roger ignores it, because Rafa is planting his hands, pushing up with his arms and shifting his body. And this was it - this is the upward-facing dog one, and Roger can just imagine what he looks like from the other side, head tilted back, and ass clenched tight, and all Roger had to do is stand up and walk around.

He could pull out his cock and rub it over Rafa’s lips, look down and see Rafa’s eyes lock on his, maybe even wind his fingers into Rafa’s hair, hold him still as he feeds his cock into Rafa’s open mouth. He could do it, it would be so easy, would feel so good, but still - something tells Roger to wait.

Rafa didn’t leave out lube so Roger could facefuck him.

Rafa’s breathing is just this side of steady, and he moves again, bringing his head down and pushing his ass back towards Roger, stretching out, and Roger would bet that Rafa’s hard. He fucking loves this, Roger knows. Shoving his ass in Roger’s face, letting Roger look his fill - it turns Rafa on to know that Roger is rubbing his dick to the thought of what he wants to do to that ass.

And man, does it work for Roger, too. It’s such a turn on how shameless Rafa is, how he fucking set this up so Roger could look at him, get off on him, get Rafa off. The way Rafa works so hard, keeps his body under such tight control - it’s mesmerizing. And Roger hasn’t broken him yet, not really, hasn’t managed to get him to tap out and give in.

Rafa’s taken everything Roger’s given him, but it just makes Roger want to give him more, push farther, and Rafa - Rafa wants that too.

Rafa wiggles his feet until his toes are planted on the ground, and then he’s standing up, almost, but he keeps his hands planted firmly on the ground, his feet not quite shoulder width apart. From where Roger’s sitting, his hand resting on his dick and giving it the occasion squeeze, he can run his gaze all the way up the long line of Rafa’s strong legs, the muscles pulled tight, right up to the curve of his ass, God his fucking amazing ass, and Roger has to slip his hand into his boxers, has to rub over the head of his dick, hips stuttering and a moan spilling past his lips.

Roger wants to _destroy_ that ass, and maybe this is it. He looks past Rafa to the lube waiting on the coffee table, and yeah, yeah, he’s going to get it - going to grab the lube, finger Rafa open, shove his dick in there. Only Roger’s hands on his hips would keep him up, he’d just take it, as hard and fast as Roger wanted to give it to him, just take it and then come apart around his cock.

His muscles tense, and he pulls his hand out of his boxers, ready to stand. But then Rafa starts walking his hands in towards his body, slowly sliding his legs wider, and wider, and Roger can see the soft curve of Rafa’s balls, thinks he can even make out the hard line of his dick. Rafa has his elbows on the floor now, his head just brushing the mat, and holy fuck Roger had no idea that Rafa was this flexible. He’s practically bent in half, and then he shifts more, rests his head on the ground, uses it to support his weight as he moves his arms, pulls them out behind him, weaving his fingers together when they’re fully extended.

And Roger knows.

This is it.

He springs off the couch and pulls his shirt off, and then, _fuck it_ , he pulls off his boxers, kicking his clothes to the corner as he circles around Rafa on his way to get the lube. He stops, though, because Rafa is breathing so raggedly, and Roger - he can’t do this if it’s actually uncomfortable for Rafa, if it’s hurting him.

He runs a hand up Rafa’s back, resting it on the curve of his ass, the warm skin trembling beneath his fingers. “Rafa?” And it’s a whisper, barely there, but it seems so loud in the room. And Roger wants to follow it up, wants to ask _are you okay?_ and _what do you want?_ and _what are we doing?_ , but Rafa just groans.

“Yes, Roger, yeah, please, please,” and holy fuck. Roger fingers clench, Rafa’s ass tight in his grip, and the _noise_ he lets out at that, high-pitched and desperate, and Roger feels dizzy with want.

He’s standing beside Rafa, naked and achingly hard, and he wants Rafa naked too, wants to see everything, feel everything, put his mouth on every inch of skin. Roger hooks his fingers in the band of Rafa’s boxer briefs, pulls them down, just past Rafa’s balls, but he can’t get them any further down, not with the way Rafa’s legs are spread. It’s good enough, though, and Roger can barely stop staring at Rafa’s ass long enough to reach for the lube. He manages, though, picks up the small bottle and moves back toward the couch.

His cock is jutting out, brushing against Rafa’s underwear, rubbing along his balls, a smear of precome trailing after it. Roger is so overwhelmed he can barely think, doesn’t know what he wants to do first, and Rafa is shaking, muttering obscenities, _fuck, fuck, yeah, fuck_ over and over again.

Roger fumbles with the lube, gets it open and pours too much onto his fingers, but he doesn’t care. He rubs at Rafa’s rim with his finger, testing the give, loving the way Rafa chokes at the first touch, _whines_ at the first small push in. He can’t take his eyes off of it – the way the tip of his finger disappears, the way he’s _inside_ Rafa, the feel of Rafa surrounding him, so tight.

Rafa makes a sound like he’s _broken_ when Roger adds a second finger, and Roger thinks – maybe he can make Rafa _cry_ , maybe he can get Rafa so worked up that he can’t help it, that he keeps begging and pleading for more, more of Roger inside of him, more than just his fingers. And Roger remembers that first time, the smell of Rafa surrounding him, wanting to get his mouth in there and lick inside, taste Rafa all the way through, and yeah – yeah, he could do that.

He’s got two fingers inside of Rafa now, pumping and spreading, and he could hold Rafa open and get right in there, feel the heat and silky-smooth tightness right on his tongue, bury his face in Rafa’s ass. He gets down on his knees, legs spread wide, fingers still settled inside Rafa, twisting wetly and scissoring, and Roger wants his tongue in there _yesterday_ , but he still can’t stop watching the way his fingers disappear inside of Rafa, slick with lube, Rafa letting him in so eagerly. He leans forward just a bit, shuffles his body closer, until Rafa’s balls are right there, and he dips his head, licks a hot strip across them before getting one into his mouth, working his tongue over the skin and sucking lightly.

Rafa fucking loses it.

“Urgh, fuck, Rogi, _no puedo_ –”

But it doesn’t matter what Rafa can’t do, because Roger’s dick is so close to Rafa’s mouth that he can feel the hot air with every word Rafa moans. His dick twitches, and his hips thrust forward, just a bit, just enough to graze Rafa’s lips, and Roger whimpers, the vibration of it rippling through his mouth and into Rafa’s balls. They’re in some kind of pleasure loop, now, and Roger fingers Rafa harder, rougher, as he loses control a bit, because he can feel Rafa’s tongue reaching out, like he’s desperate for a taste, flickering across the head of Roger’s dick, and every time Roger moans, Rafa shudders, twitches, and makes a sound like he’s _dying_ , like it’s so good he can’t help it, lapping at the slit of Roger’s cock like he needs it in his mouth.

Roger lets his free hand grip the skin just under the swell of Rafa’s ass, digs his fingers in and lets Rafa’s balls slip out of his mouth, because he can’t _breathe_ , can’t get enough air into his lungs. And Rafa’s chest is heaving, each exhale lighting up Roger’s spine as the hot air blows over the tip of his cock, and Roger just _wants_ , so much.

He wants Rafa, like this, and underneath him, on top of him, every way, always, hard and begging or sleepy and grumpy or making Roger _be better_ , and he wants that so much, needs it.

“Fuck, Rafa, fuck. You want it so bad, want my fingers, want to taste my dick, yeah, gonna come all over your face,” he can’t breathe, but he can’t shut up, can’t stop fingering Rafa long enough to even _think_ , can’t stop his hips from pushing his dick against Rafa’s lips, Rafa's tongue. “You fucking want that, want me to come on you. Want me inside you, my fingers, my tongue, my cock, you want it so bad.”

And Roger has never been surer of anything than he is this - not tennis, not anything. He knows it the way he knows where Rafa is on the court, knows it the way Rafa’s always in his corner, the way he knows winter follows autumn and day comes after night, and Rafa was _made_ for Roger, he must have been.

“Want it, want to fuck you up, make you mine,” and he’s going to, he has to, Roger won’t take anything less. The head of his cock finally, finally slips past Rafa’s lips, and Rafa sucks, too hard, too fast, but Roger doesn’t care, just throws back his head, slips a third finger inside him, and he can see Rafa’s balls draw up tight, knows he’s about to come.

“Ruined for anyone else, aren’t you, yeah. I’m the only one who can get you like this, give you what you want, what you need.” Roger’s mindless with it, can’t think, barely knows he’s speaking, can’t stop himself from thrusting his hips, fucking Rafa’s face.

“I’m the only one you need.”

Rafa moans, deep and loud, and Roger can _feel_ him come around his fingers, the fluttering and tightening as he orgasms, and he’s done, so done.

He pulls his hips back, almost fighting against the suction of Rafa’s mouth, but he wants - he needs to come all over Rafa, needs to see it painted across his skin. He gets the head out just in time, and hopefully Rafa’s aware enough to close his eyes, because Roger doesn’t warn him, doesn’t say anything, just comes everywhere, not even using a hand to guide the spray.

Eventually, Roger stops shaking, but Rafa’s trembling just gets worse. His legs shake, and when Roger leans back and he can see that Rafa’s face is bright red, his neck strained, and Roger honestly doubts he can get himself up, that he can do anything except collapse. And that - as flattering as that is, Roger knows that would probably hurt. So he puts his hands on Rafa’s hips, holding them steady.

“Gonna pull you back into my lap, ‘kay?” And his voice is soft, wrecked, and so fucking fond. “Just slowly let your knees bend, I’ve got you.” Rafa swallows heavily, and Roger can see the way his eyelashes are damp, but he starts to move, his knees bending as Roger pulls his hips back and down, slowly and steadily, until Rafa is sitting in his lap, body still wracked with tremors.

“I got you,” Roger whispers, and presses a soft kiss to Rafa’s neck.

“I got you.”


End file.
